


Just How I Like It

by Aicosu



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch / Overwatch timeline, F/M, Masturbation, Mercy's boost basically makes Gabriels dick hard, Sexual Tension, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, mercykill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 06:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11914920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aicosu/pseuds/Aicosu
Summary: Gabriel enlists Angela on a Blackwatch mission and is compromised by her presence and abilities.





	Just How I Like It

**Author's Note:**

> AKA Gabriel gets hard when Mercy boosts him and has to deal with it. 
> 
> DEFINITELY not the inventor of this trope in Mercykill, but its inevitable with his voiceline. Though I have to thank [Alume](http://archiveofourown.org/users/alume/pseuds/alume) for the real inspiration. If you have not read her [Mercykill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7920511) you really, really fucking should.

“Then take Angela along.”

Gabriel lowered his gun.

At first, he thought he might have misheard. His fingers grabbed the muffs about his head, pulling them down to his neck, helping relieve some of the ringing in his ears from the echo of the firing range. It dragged some sweat with it.

Jack paused too, his own gun lowered in his fists.

“Ziegler?” Gabriel asked.

“Why not?” Jack suggested. “You need to extract a vaccine, right?”

Gabriel considered the mission brief in his head. That was the target. A vaccine. But it wasn’t just lying around. The opposition had taken it to their own advanced medical headquarters. And his team weren’t exactly practiced in the art of handling medical equipment.

“Right.”

“If anyone would know exactly how to bring the target back without human error in handling, it’s Angela.”

Gabriel thought of the woman.

He didn’t talk to Angela Ziegler much. They had shaken hands a few months ago when Jack had introduced her to the teams. He’d sent her emails. She’d put a few files into his box; reports on his soldier’s wounds and their according prescriptions. They hadn’t worked together. Or rather, he’d not been under the good doctor’s forceps anyway.

And “Mercy”—

Angela Ziegler’s field position belonged on Jack’s team. He’d seen recordings of a few missions. Heard the highlights. But she was what she was. A field doctor. With flight capabilities, adrenaline boosters and medical stimulants, she was a strategic choice for a frontal assault, casualty evacuation, and battle recovery. She looked great on posters. Or the news. A glowing beacon in a war zone to intimidate enemies, and bring hope to allies.

But covert operations? Infiltration?

His eyes narrowed, considering Jack’s suggestion an odd one. Especially since he usually considered Morrison to have about as good a mind as his own for combat tactics. Mercy - or Angela - needed a pusher to support. Usually, that was Jack. Or Wilhelm. Or even Winston.

Heck, he’d sooner take the monkey on a stealth operation than a bright, glowing, target that would only slow them down once they inevitably got caught.

He told Jack as much. “I can’t lead our only doctor straight into slaughter, Jack.”

Jack grinned, shaking his head. “She’d surprise you. Trust me.”

Morrison turned back to his own shooting range then, raising the firearms and unloading a few shells on the target.

Gabriel watched for a bit, considering.

He had his doubts. But he’d had worse choices, and he was more concerned about successfully obtaining the objective then he was with how badly they did it. So long as it got done. And besides, Morrison vouched for her, and that was enough. They had their differences but Gabriel trusted the man’s judgment at least that much.

After awhile he reached out to thump the man’s shoulder, saying nothing as he gathered his own equipment and left.

“Good luck!” Jack called after him.

Gabriel waved him off.

* * *

 

They were shipped in.

The opposition’s medical facility was a front. An oiling rig, off the southern coasts of the pacific, not far from Dorado. They had to be boated in, and they’d need to be boated out too.

It was simple enough. But it always was on paper. Below the oiling factory, down beneath ocean level, was the medical facility. There were a few quarantine areas between them and the vat they kept their vaccine in. Or rather, their stolen vaccine. Chemical warfare. It made him disgusted. A coward's way of power. Something they’d need to tear through a few pressure sealed rooms and a couple handfuls of security guards to put a stop to.

He wasn’t worried about his team. They were prepared. They’d done something similar in Mongolia a few weeks ago. They could do this. They needed only hold the doors open for him. It’s was her that was the variable.

“Gabriel?”

He looked down at her, not having noticed she’d crowded his standing room by the hatch of the ship.

Her blonde hair was too bright, but everything else had been slicked in black.

He’d briefed the doctor more than once. Coming back the last few days to check into her infirmary and drill her with information until he felt somewhat satisfied.

_“I only need you to identify and grab the thing.” “We can’t be seen.” “This is covert.” “Maybe leave the wings behind.” “And the suit.” “And the halo.” “Maybe just leave everything behind, and I’ll take care of the rest.”_

She had smiled at him over her shoulder at every visit. Nodding and drawing blood at the same time.

_“Of course.” “I hear you.” “Understood.” “I’ll follow only you, Gabriel.”_

But Mercy stood in front of him now, an inverted Angel.

She’d taken his orders to heart. The armor was gone. Nothing but the slick undersuit covered her from head to toe. She’d stolen some of his crew’s supply belts, suspenders. A pack of ammo rounds wrapped her hips and accessorized the heavy pistol on her thigh.

The Caduceus staff dangled from her free hand, but it looked as if it had been chopped in half. More of a nightstick than a beacon of radiance.

“Ziegler.” He acknowledged her body, not realizing he was only scrutinizing her attire and not looking at her face until she laughed. Then he was caught, and he crossed his arms uncomfortably.

“I promised I wouldn’t steal the show, didn’t I?”

“Mm.” He nodded. But then he noticed it. The wings on her back. Smaller. Fitted in gunmetal. Folded tight. “What about those?”

She took a step back before her arms shivered like she was shrugging off sensation. The steel reacted, ruffling like metal couldn’t.

The wings flared, as he knew them too, but the gold wasn’t there. Just shadows of black.

“Is this better?”

Oh yeah. He liked that much, much better.

He nodded.

“You’re to keep as close to me as you can, Dr. Ziegler.” He briefed. Angela’s face went serious when he did, wings grew taut and her shoulders stiffening. “We’re not here for any search or rescue. If one of my men falls, you let me handle it. You’re only priority is me, and what I do, and what I tell you to do.”

“Yes, Commander.”

Commander. It was the first time he’d heard that from the Swiss woman. Maybe not the word itself, but the first time it had been directed by her, at him. With blue eyes and pink lips.

And that damned blonde hair.

His hand raked at the fabric of his head, scratching his scalp as he pulled the beanie off. He yanked it over her ponytail with some maneuvering, her light accent voicing her confusion to his actions, but he got it on.

He used his nails to pull the rim of it down to her forehead, gently tugging the soft strands of gold underneath the worn gray.

“Oh!—” Her hands were assessing his job, but he was satisfied with the new look.

“Let’s move out.” He called over her head. His team began standing, calling out their acknowledgments of his order. “Stay close.” He reminded her beneath his breath.

She looked up, the beanie doing nothing for the brilliance of her smile.

“Yes, sir.”

* * *

 

Gabriel wouldn’t say he got nervous. Not about missions.

He didn’t really get anxious or paranoid either. He was confident in his men, and when he wasn’t, he was always confident in himself. It was something he could always rely on. His own drive. The results of constantly challenging himself more than anyone else could.

But Angela Ziegler was making him slip.

His fingers felt clammy in between the spaces of his gloves, where his skin kissed the metal of his shotguns.

He was unsure. He hated being unsure.

He was no pusher. At least not the kind that she needed. He broke formation, sure. He could draw enemy fire, put a heavy turret or omnic down, easy. He could take damage, but he couldn’t worry about someone else not taking that damage. He couldn’t keep her in his head once he started shooting.

And he was nervous about it the whole way.

She was going to get shot. Right between the eyes, he could see it now. He’d have to carry her weight, all 120lbs of it, and lie it down at Jack's feet. The bloodiest, ‘I told you so,’ of his life. And he was practically running towards it.

He let his team do most of the work at first because of it. Signaling for them to take out the first tower, the lights, the security. Things he would have collaborated, he would have lead. He was acting like a retired old General rather than a Commander.

They made it to the shaft that’d take them to the underground facility. It would just be him and her now, while the rest held the decks for their return. But the shaft down only had one exit, one entrance, and they were expecting at least some forces to try and stop them when they landed.

Gabriel felt her shoulder brush against his ribs. He tried not file the feeling away as the last living touch of Angela Ziegler.

_“She’d surprise you,” Jack had said._

Gabriel would need to buy Morrison a bottle of whiskey for that one. Because she surprised the absolute living shit out of him.

When the elevator shaft opened and gunfire rained upon them, he had moved like he always had, ripping his guns to an aim and rushing head on. He shouldered through bullets with a silent prayer to the gods that Angela wasn’t already dead.

But she had shouldered with him.

She’d moved, legs planting her tiny feet directly behind his, stepping as he did, bending knees in tandem with his, raising her breast to heave with his back. He’d done nothing, but suddenly his shadow was a 5’7” blonde Swiss woman.

He took out the firing squad with two clips, and when he hunched to his left to reload, Angela had met him first, slipping a new clip square into his empty shotgun’s canister. He hadn’t even asked. Hadn’t even felt her take it from his belt.

And when he rushed down through the corridor, he felt her there, closing the space between them with a hum of her staff, behind his body, or in it, there, in his heart, shit— it felt like a palpitation, a skipped beat, and she was in flight, her knuckles skimming his spine as he felt Caduceus practically latch onto his goddamn soul.

_Querido Dios, por eso la llaman ángel._

He had seconds to process it all. Worry, anxiety, fear, surprise, overwhelming relief, and the odd hiccup of shock from the sensation of being claimed. Being labeled. He was a pusher now. She’d shown him he could be.

So he stopped worrying. And his natural pride seemed to seep into the revelation.

She was fine. Good. Better even. He could lead her, could ram down doors and set everything ablaze and she’d be right there.

When the corridors opened up to the platforms of staircases down to the medical facility, Gabriel tried not to grin as he leapt off the ledge, guns firing on the men storming up the steps.

His knee landed on one of their shoulders, he shot another in the mouth, and he rolled to his feet and grasped a final soldier between the crook of his elbow, where he snapped their neck.

And Mercy followed, her wings ruffling about his head to aim him perfectly onto that shoulder, twisting to his left to shove his aim to the right for that bullet to the mouth, and stepping over the legs of the broken-necked man to slip another loaded cartridge into his empty gun.

He stood straight, looking down at her as her little fingers yanked back metal to cock his shotgun one handed, the other whirring her Caduceus.

This was…

_Avivar. Invigorating. Hacer fuerte._

There wasn’t a word for it.

It was like someone else could read his mind. Or no, his body. Could tell what he was going to do, or what he should do. It was perfect synchronization. They could be unstoppable.

They were.

Gabriel took her through the whole facility. He indulged, basked, caught himself up in corridors he knew he didn’t need to clean, just to see, to push, to marvel. He had her between six men at one point, shooting over her head and feeling her wings dance over his shoulders, her head squeezing into his chest as they rotated and he shot, legs stepping between his, hands snaking over his shoulder.

It climaxed when she stepped onto the tops of his shoes, climbed to perch her knee on his shoulder, and unholstered her pistol to aim at a guard behind him. She shot his legs and he felt to the floor. A Mercy shot. In every sense of the word.

Gabriel grabbed her waist into his arms and whirled around, shooting the man in his head.

_Fuck._

When he set her down she loaded his shotgun, sliding the cartridge in with a click, and cocking the gun with a snap.

_Fuck. Fuck._

He was breathing too hard.

She was looking at him for orders.

He grunted. It was all he could fucking manage. “Angela.”

“Ready, Commander.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

* * *

 

There wasn't much after that. A couple guards in front of the main lab, the last defense. They took them out easy. They. Mercy shot too. She refused to kill, but she still set up his aim perfectly by shooting through their hands. They'd scream in pain and he'd pick them off. Head by wailing head.

Past the pressurized doors, it was her show.

“Doc, I want it done fast.” He told her, closing the glass behind them as she hurried into the pit of the lab.

“Understood Commander, no longer than three minutes.” She called back, her hands already in latex and pulling open a silver vat.

“Make it shorter than that.”

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t watch her. He wouldn’t have understood the process anyway. Gabriel kept his eyes on the hallways instead. His own men could hold the outside long enough, he was sure of it. But their job was to protect the boat, their only exit, not the entrance down to the lab. If reinforcements came, and they always did, there would be nothing between them to slow them down. They would have to take them head on.

It was an exciting thought now.

Sure enough, he noticed the flickering of red at the end of the corridor. Neon spiderwebs crawling up the walls from a reflected targeting system.

“Doctor.” He called again.

“A moment—”

“We’re about to have company.”

Metal company.

Omnics.

They tore around the corridor, metal bodies ramming into the walls as they hefted their turret modified arms, a cacophony of digital voices mixed with the clinking of guns and adjusting robotics.

Gabriel tried not to smile.

“Angela!”

“I’m here!”

And she was, there at his elbow, locking a small metal casing into her belt. Her wings flared and black ate the air up around them.

“Is that it?”

“And then some, Commander.”

He would have shivered at the title if he could hear it better over the incoming omnics.

“Once they pass that first door it's only going to take them a minute to sear through this glass and our bodies with those turrets if we don’t take them out fast.”

“Understood.”

Gabriel hesitated only a moment. “These aren’t humans, they don’t slip doc, they are highly—”

The noise of her Caduceus snapping to life in her hands interrupted him. And it was blue now, a reflection of neon from her very eyes.

“I know.”

And then Gabriel couldn’t breathe.

The Caduceus latched onto him. Connected. Engaged. But it was different this time. It was… more.

His body was tense just before it utterly wasn’t, a harsh looseness that made his muscles contract beneath his uniform and armor, trying to fight against the urge to let go. Like dipping into hot water before being pulled out into the cold again. His breathing stopped before starting at break neck speed.

Sense came into him like he had just come up from drowning. As if he had been addled and hindered all his life until this moment. The second that stream had hit his heart he had finally been born. His eyes flickered, doubled vision clearing until he could see particles of air, fractures of light.

And the smell. The smell of alcohol from the labs, acid baths and sanitizer, the flare of clean linens and wax from Angela’s skin, or the crisp leather and smoked powder from his own clothes—

And he could hear… everything. Just everything! The whir of Angela’s staff was just as loud as the whir of his blood cycling through his veins, matching the whir of the turrets—

The turrets.

“Get down!”

He took Angela entirely into himself.

The bullets rained above their heads as he rolled, clutching the tiny woman into his chest and breathing in the smell of burning metal from his own beanie perched on her head. That and the smell of her hair, the scent of the sweat on her skin, so much— there was so, so much—

They crowded behind the steel of the lab counters, the dents of metal from the gunfire a bassline to the pumping of his blood. Like hail on an empty airplane carrier. It thrummed through every inch of him. Made him ready.

Guns still in his fists, he squeezed Angela up toward him with his elbows and forearms until he was looking at that too-bright face and the static neon of her staff. “You and that stick stay close doc!”

“Yes, Commander!”

He yelled at the response. He couldn’t contain the reaction anymore. A gruff yell of adrenaline. That’s what this was. What she was doing. What she was pumping into him with every turn of the staff’s head. Pure adrenaline. Like those stim shots Los Muertos took on their rampages. But more. Better.

It shot him upward, with the push of the muscles in his thigh, his mind aware of every knitted section of them as they sprung him across the floor of the labs, shoulder finding the wall for cover.

Angela was there. He didn’t even have to look to know she’d made it across. He could feel her body about his shoulders and her magic in his heart.

They ducked into open fire like an echo; his step, her step, his step, her step— until his shotgun was shooting to the beat of his heart.

Bang, bang, bang.

_One, two, one, two._

He could feel every recoil, could smell the spark of every bullet leaving, could see every flicker of gold from every shell.

It only took a well placed shot to their head, the glowing quad set of eyes exploding in an LED and wire fountain of blood, bodies hissing to the ground in pieces. A fireworks show in slow motion.

_It was slow._

Gabriel had the time to take note that he could count the seconds, could revel in the colors of his violence. The bright red and greens of their inner workings. The electric blue bouncing off his skin and coating his guns from Angela’s staff.

He was practically high.

He heard the repositioning of their turreted arms before he saw it, twisting an arm open where Angela already knowingly stepped into him before they dove together, sliding on his knees beneath their range of firepower.

He slid with the doctor in his lap, felt her fingers load another clip into his gun just before he raised it again.

Bang, bang, bang.

_One, two, three._

Gabriel smiled.

They rose together as the omnics fell.

Shields drew up on the last four by the halls. A whirring, blaring color of red. Electric. The type that burned skin.

The bots hummed out a series of noises, commands, orders, who knows, before metal clicked and snapped into place as their guns loaded once more, changed position and fired.

“Let’s go, baby!”

He grinned, grabbing Angela by her ribs, pulling her forward as they dove. Wings flared behind them, her frame rising in his hands, he kicked off to a jump.

They dove right, his feet hitting the wall to jump to their high left.

Bullets trailed, ripping the path they left behind to shreds, he could almost count every one of them.

They hit the left wall with such speed he felt the impact through his entire body. Diving straight in towards the row of warping red shields, he didn’t even have to warn Angela of what he wanted, what his intentions were.

Her foot kicked off his rising calf as they jumped, a shadow of wings overcasting his eyes as she rose high into the ceiling, bypassing the shields altogether.

Gabriel’s guns passed through them first and his knuckles only barely felt the sickly burn of them before the blue around him turned to gold.

And once again he was awash in that warm, soothing heat. Healing the burns on his hands stitch for stitch as they appeared. Past his arms, caressing his cheeks, down his neck and back. Like a breeze of hot air.

And that's when everything sped up.

The turrets were turning to follow their trajectory but he was through already, holding his guns up as he hit the ground, rolling, everything blue once more just as he started aiming.

Three shots.

Bang, bang, bang.

But he let himself keep going. Twisting about their three forms, not letting their bodies hit the ground as each shot erupted them into the air again, skeletons jerking from the impact of each one.

Bang, bang, bang, bang—

 _FUCK_. It felt so good. All of it. He could put the shot anywhere he wanted, there in the eyes, the shoulder, left, right, that one’s ventilator, the rounded cap of a knee joint.

He could shoot under his arm, barely looking, and again to his left.

Bang, bang—

It wasn’t until the blue left him, that static electric cold hot wash of feeling, that he found himself shooting nothing but a mass of metal and wires.

It sparked pathetically when he stopped.

The concrete burned black, smoke rising to his nostrils.

His hands felt numb from the vibration of ammo, and his trigger fingers released. Hot.

His breathing slowed, heaving. He was panting. And his heart wouldn't stop. A tiny thing now. Pumping hard in contrast with his steady, shock still body.

His eyes found Angela’s then. And he realized she’d stepped in front of him, staring up. Quietly. Waiting.

 _Fuck she was small._ This woman was nothing. A slip of paper in his hands he could tear to pieces.

If he put his hands on her, anyway.

But she didn’t address him. She just waited. Let him stand in the wreckage and stare at her impassive face and remember it. It was better this way. He couldn’t tell what he was going to do if she called him Commander again.

The thought of it surged through his blood, still fresh from that… fucking… _feeling._

_Christ._

He couldn’t let his arms down. Couldn’t release, untense. He was so still, wound, tight, hard—

He felt his throat stick. Felt his teeth grind. Eyes still staring at Ziegler’s as he realized he was that too.

He was hard. Blood on fire, heart racing, and cock taut in his pants.

_Fuck._

* * *

 

There was no resistance after that. They left the underground facilities the same way they came.

But where they had hit the floor in the same step, with nothing but a breath between their bodies as they fought, Gabriel couldn’t put enough distance between them.

He pushed himself into the corner of the lift back up to the docks, not speaking or looking in the doctor’s direction as he tried to count out his breathing. Tried to center the rhythm of his heart.

But numbers seemed to be lost to him now that he wasn’t powered by her stick of pure heroin.

That had to be what that was.

The lift opened and the boys greeted them. Shouting reports, hurrying them and the escort back towards the boat.

He grunted at them, thankful his team was always efficient. Reliable. An admirable team he could count on in situations he couldn’t predi— _fuck, fuck, fuck_ he needed to get alone and fast.

“Commander, aboard sir— we have Nav ready when you—”

“GO!” He yelled at the agent at the helm as they crossed the rig’s docks onto the boat itself. Angela jumped beside him, pressing close to his side. Fuck.

His escort thundered past him hurriedly and the agent was already relaying the order to the rest of the crew.

They dropped into the hatch easily, and his men were hurrying about the cabin to take positions.

“Everyone accounted for?!” He yelled.

“Sir!”

He nodded, slamming the hatch down before turning to help throw equipment back into its compartments. After he began ripping the holsters from his thighs and releasing the straps of his chest plate. Keeping his eyes down or forward. Ignoring her or ignoring the tense pull of his muscles—

The entire boat jerked.

Angela’s hips bumped his and his glance snapped to watch her as she mimicked him, unstrapping her belts and pulling at the Valkyrie response suit.

It was infuriating.

“Ziegler!” He barked, she jumped, and the boat accelerated, lurching everyone forward. His hands encircled her waist, feeling the bones of her hips. The metal casing of the chemicals they just acquired found his grip. “Lock this down in the control deck. Now.”

He ordered into the space between her lips and ear, smelling the linens from before.

“Yes, Commander.”

Gabriel bared his teeth, before his hand released her, grasping the beanie on her head and smoothing it off her hair in one motion.

He moved from her fast, long strides taking him out of the main cabin, stopping only to toss his guns to an agent. “Take care of these,”

“Sir.”

He didn’t look back to see if the doctor did as he asked. Or if his men were readily positioned to take them home. He couldn’t. He could barely breathe. His heart was still racing to an inevitable heart attack. He needed... Air. Rest. Water. A shower maybe. Release—

Gabriel’s elbow slammed into the door of the ammunitions room. A tiny thing packed in weapon crates and wooden racks. Empty. Good. He pulled it closed behind him, enveloping himself in the cold hot of the dark.

His back hit the wall with a thud, his hand wrestling immediately with his belt and the top of his trousers.

But then there was the carbon weave of his under suit and Gabriel groaned in annoyance. His other hand curling angrily into the beanie he was still clutching.

His knuckles rasped along the length of his dick through the suit and for a moment that was enough. His hips rocked like the boat was still lurching. The back of his head lifting and smacking against the door. The contrast of pain and pleasure making him hiss.

Fuck, christ, _meirda, el calor es maldito_ —

He grunted, heaved, fingers splaying to reach behind his back to unzip the suit. His shoulder struggled until it was just free enough from his bare chest to peel away from his hips. And there— _fuck._

His hand gripped his length all at once and he couldn’t force himself to try and take it slow.

It all came back to the pumping of his heart and the pumping of his hand down the increasing wetness along his cock, precum already pearling at the tip.

That feeling. That fucking, incredible, god damn, _feeling._ The taste of everything, the smell of everything. He had never been so fucking alive. Never felt so fucking relieved to pull a trigger and watch something explode into a mess of shit, a mess of wires and blood, a mess of noise and colors and feeling. The kills, the expertise, the precision of his own senses, the rush of being that in control, that close—

And all because some, tiny, frail, little woman could move like he did, was there, fingers sliding bullets into his gun, yanking the trigger like a devil on his shoulder. _Yes, ella es el diablo._

He pressed the beanie into his nose. Into his mouth. Teeth pulling at the knit fabric, wetting the softness of it and muffling his loud grunting. It smelled like him. Like what he always knew. And her. The smell of foreign soap and wax. Lotion. Skin. Something. He couldn’t place it and his eyes closed in frustration. Like the edging of this orgasm was dependent on figuring out what she fucking smelled like.

If he had her here in front of him pumping that blue shit into his body he’d be able to tell.

_Fuck!_

A woman after his own heart. His soul. Snaking her scent around his body to encourage that temptation, that excellence, that fucking— _that fucking feeling._

_Fuck!_

_“Yes, Commander,”_

His fingers curled around the head of his cock as his muscles spasmed, elbow knocking against a crate awkwardly as his knees buckled and his thighs went weak, his dick pulling at him to keep standing so he could cum. Fuck! Yes, cum, that was it—

Gabriel's body stopped suddenly as his muscles racked themselves in shivers. He shuddered uncontrollably, fingers twitching and making his cock bob in his palm, leaking messily down his wrist and onto his pants.

“Shit.” He said to the dark.

 


End file.
